Addison

 

Hey. Hope everything is going smoothly with the Thornhill wedding. We need to talk. Call me.

Why had I checked my phone? It had beeped, and it was force of habit to just fish it out of my purse.

I couldn’t even think about the whole Me-Todd-Sabrina love triangle right now. Although it was probably more of a love square with Naomi thrown into the mix, if there was such a thing.

No. Whatever the geometry, it had to wait.

I jammed my phone back in my purse, returning my attention to the disaster-in-the-making before me.

I had to think, and fast! I could not mess up Lucy’s wedding. Do that, and . . . well, I didn’t want to think about what would happen.

I frantically searched through the flowers, hoping to find the white roses Mrs. Thornhill had insisted on for Lucy’s bouquet—the white roses that were meant to match the table centerpieces and the large arrangements we had already done for the church.

“It’s no use. They’re not there. Just a truckload of these peach-colored roses,” Leonardo said, holding up a tub stuffed full of the offending flowers.

“No, they’ve got to be here!”

Leonardo shook his head. “I told you, babe. They’re not.”

I spotted something white behind some green foliage out of the corner of my eye. With a rush of hope, I reached across to separate the leaves. The flowers were white, but they weren’t roses. I rubbed my temples as my tension grew.

This could not be happening.

“What are we going to do?” Leonardo asked.

I bit my lip, staring at the peach-colored roses, willing them to magically transform into the white roses Mrs. Thornhill had insisted were the “only” appropriate option for a wedding.

It was a long shot, to say the least.

“Have you called the supplier?” I asked.

“Of course. They checked their records and insisted it’s not their screw-up.”

I rolled my eyes. “I bet they did.” I let out a heavy sigh. “Was it me? Lucy loved the peach tulips. Did I subconsciously order the color of flowers Lucy wanted?”

Leonardo shook his head. “Honey, that’s for you and your shrink to work out, not me.”

Panic twisted in my belly. “What are we going to do?”

“Close up shop and hightail it to Mexico?”

I shot him a look. “Not helping.” I began to pace the room. “Think, Addi, think!” I insisted, tapping my forehead. “I won’t be able to get new white roses in time from the markets tomorrow to arrange them before the wedding, so that isn’t an option.” I paced some more. “If I was in Orlando, I could call in some favors.” I turned to look at Leonardo. “You know, get some white roses from another florist shop.”

“Do you know any kindly florists here in San Francisco?”

I shook my head. “You?”

“Why don’t we ask Sabrina? She’d know what to do.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket.

I put my hand in the air and waved it about. “No!”

Holding his phone midair, he shot me a quizzical look. “Why not?”

He had a point, but Sabrina was the last person I wanted to talk to right now. Not only would Naomi almost certainly have told her about my betrayal of her with Todd, now she would know I was single-handedly ruining her business, too.

Leonardo’s expression changed. “Oh, I get it.” To my unutterable relief, he tucked his phone back in his pocket. “You don’t want her to know about this.” He gestured at the flowers.

I shook my head. “Not until we’ve got it fixed.”

“Then it can be a funny anecdote, not an ‘oh, my God, I’ve wrecked your business’ conversation,” he replied.

I let out a puff of air. “Still not helping.”

“Wait! I know someone. He’s got a florist shop on Market. I can call him, if you want?”

“Yes! Tell him it’s an emergency.”

Although the profit on this wedding would be almost nonexistent if we did manage to get white roses from another florist, that possibility was far more attractive to me than upsetting the formidable Mrs. Thornhill—the one customer Sabrina insisted I keep happy.

“I’m on it.” Leonardo left the room to make his call.

I surveyed the flowers and greenery, tapping my chin. How can you change peach roses to white? I knew some florists dyed flowers, and they could look amazing, but bleaching them? I’d never heard of that.

All I knew was Mrs. Thornhill was Sabrina’s biggest customer, and like Queen Victoria, she was not going to be amused. Without her and the influence she had over San Francisco society, there would be next to no business for Sabrina to return to—not that I had any clue whether Sabrina was even thinking of coming back to San Francisco.

I had totally screwed up.

I buried my head in my hands. First Todd, then Naomi, now The Flower Girl. Throw Geoff into the mix and it was my turn to live an episode of Beverley Hills, 90210.

A few moments of increasingly desperate thoughts later—could I substitute the roses with flowers made out of paper?—Leonardo reentered the room. I looked up at him with a surge of hope.

“That Marco is on my list.”

My heart sank. “So, he’s not going to help?”

“Help?” Leonardo scoffed. “He wants to steal the business! Said he would do it, and do a better job than us. Such a cow.” He shook his head. “I will be telling everyone at the Gay Man’s Choir about what he’s done.”

The Gay Man’s Choir? What was he talking about? I blinked at him. No. I didn’t have the time to ask him right now. As Leonardo himself had said, we had bigger fish to fry, and that fish’s name was Mrs. Thornhill.

After trying as many florist shops as we could find online with no success, we were forced to admit defeat. No one had the volume of white roses we needed for the arrangements, and in the end, we managed to purchase just enough to make Lucy’s bouquet the way her mother had envisioned it: plain white, to match her gown.

It would eat into our profit, but I hoped it would go some way to appease Mrs. Thornhill.

I’d admit, a little part of me wanted to give Lucy the peach roses in her bouquet. She’d been so taken with the tulips of the same hue. But the sensible part of me—the part that knew I was dicing with death—decided it was safest to give her a fully white one.

The wrath of Mrs. Thornhill was going to be harsh enough.

With all hope dashed, like the condemned going to meet the executioner, I walked slowly to the counter. I found Mrs. Thornhill’s contact details on the computer and picked up the store phone.

“Good luck,” Leonardo said.

I shot him a weak smile.

“You’re gonna need it,” he added before turning away to help a customer who was perusing the pre-made bouquets.

I dialed her number, and as it rang, I half prayed she wouldn’t pick up. Although what that would achieve would be a big, fat zero.

My prayer was ignored.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mrs. Thornhill. It’s Addison Blo—” I began before quickly remembering she preferred not to use my actual name. “It’s Sabrina from The Flower Girl here.”

“Oh, Sabrina. I hope everything is ready for tomorrow?”

“Um . . . about that,” I began slowly.

How was I going to break this to her?

“What? What is it?” she snapped.

I knew full well the arrangements we would create would be utterly beautiful. Breaking the news to Mrs. Thornhill in the shop, surrounded by them, may help her to forgive me.

Or, in the very least, stop her from piercing my eardrum with her angry screams.

“I would love it if you could come to The Flower Girl to see them.”

“Oh, I don’t have time to do that,” she dismissed in her haughty tone. “I have a long list of things I need to do today. Have you forgotten that I’m the mother of the bride?”

Like I could ever forget.

“Well, there has been a change to—”

She cut me off. “Change? What change?”

“Ah, it’s just something minor,” I fibbed, “but I thought you’d like to see it for yourself.”

She let out an irritated breath. “Oh, all right. I can come after two.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Thornhill.”

The hour of my execution was set. Now, we needed to create floral designs of such beauty Mrs. Thornhill would weep with joy—and we could avoid the executioner’s block for another day.

Two o’clock rolled around all too quickly, and we still hadn’t finished all the centerpieces for the tables, let alone taken a break for lunch or even our daily caffeine fix. Leonardo had suggested we call Carl, one of his friends from The Gay Man’s Choir—and I still had no clue whether that was an actual choir or some kind of social thing or what—who had also helped Sabrina out for weddings and other events.

Carl was a godsend. He knew what he was doing in the shop, so Leonardo and I could press on with the work at hand.

The church displays and Lucy’s bouquet were all finished, and I had to admit, they looked stunning. Leonardo and I were an awesome team.

He appeared at the entrance to the back room and announced Mrs. Thornhill’s arrival. “She’s got the daughter here, too.”

I took a deep breath and smoothed out my apron. With one final glance around the room, I stepped out into the shop to face the music.

“Hello, Mrs. Thornhill. Hello, Lucy. All set for the big day tomorrow?”

Lucy opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs. Thornhill waved her hand in front of her face. Lucy immediately closed her mouth and looked down.

“Yes, yes. We’re very excited. Now. What’s this change you’ve made?”

There was no beating about the bush with this lady.

“Come with me. I’d love to show you what we’ve created for you.” I walked slowly through the shop to the counter, followed by Mrs. Thornhill and her mouse-like daughter. I had placed Lucy’s bridal bouquet there, as a kind of blow-softening device.

Or, at least, that’s what I’d hoped it would do.

I collected the bridal bouquet from its vase and held it out for them to see.

“Lovely,” Mrs. Thornhill commented. She turned to her daughter. “I told you white is the only way to go in a bridal bouquet.”

“Yes. It’s really gorgeous,” Lucy said, looking from the bouquet to me. “Thank you.”

“I’m so glad you like it. Now, there was an issue with the order, and we weren’t able to get the precise hue of rose you wanted. But, that said, I think you’re going to love what we’ve been able to do with what was delivered.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of this,” Mrs. Thornhill exclaimed.

I led them into the back room. The smell of the roses was wonderful, and I managed a smile through my nerves.

“This is what we’ve done for the centerpieces, and over here are the church flowers.”

I watched Mrs. Thornhill’s reaction closely. Her expression went from its usual self-satisfaction mixed with generalized distaste to apoplectic wrath in an impressive two point three seconds flat.

“What have you done? Where are the white roses? These are . . . orange.” She spat the last word, picking up a centerpiece in her hands.

“Peach,” I corrected before I could stop myself. I pressed my lips together immediately to stop anything else from slipping out, hoping she wasn’t going to hurl the arrangement across the room at me.

“Whatever color you want to call them. They. Are. Not. White.” She glared at me, her eyebrows as raised as her smooth-as-a-baby’s-bottom Botoxed face would allow.

I clasped my hands behind my back. “That’s the thing I wanted to talk to you about. You see, the delivery was made this morning—”

“And you waited until now to tell me about it?”

I opened my mouth to respond. She had a point. I should have forgotten trying to fix the problem and instead simply come clean with her. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I thought I could fix it, but I couldn’t. Please accept my sincerest apologies.”

Mrs. Thornhill harrumphed loudly.

I glanced at Lucy, standing to my side. She was trying hard to bite back a smile. She looked at me, and I shot her a quizzical look. She shrugged in response, pressing her lips together.

She looked . . . happy.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about this now. Lucy is getting married in less than twenty-four hours! I can’t find another florist in that time. But you must know, Sabrina, I am very displeased,” Mrs. Thornhill scolded.

I was reminded of one of the sterner teachers at my Catholic girls’ school and had to fight the impulse to slump my shoulders and cast my eyes down. “Yes, and I understand completely.” I looked back up at her. “I do hope you can allow me to make this up to you.”

Mrs. Thornhill harrumphed again. “Unlikely.”

Unlikely?

I followed the two out into the shop, my tail well and truly between my legs. I had to resist the overwhelming feeling to apologize about a million times. I knew it wouldn’t help.

At the door, Mrs. Thornhill turned and fixed me with her gaze. “I expect no further problems, Sabrina.” I nodded dumbly in response. “And, after the wedding, I will be reviewing with whom I do business.”

I swallowed and nodded as she turned on her heel and stormed off, followed by her daughter.

Leonardo and I shared a look.

Well, that was that. Over, kaput, done. I had single-handedly ruined The Flower Girl’s business. No amount of artistic design would disguise the fact that the roses were not what Mrs. Thornhill demanded.

I had messed up this life switch on all fronts.

Maybe it was time to admit defeat?